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[Meghan Winchester]

Hot smoke filled her lungs as Meghan Winchester lit her cigarette and took a drag. She had separated from her brothers tonight and went out to see the Seattle nightlife herself. She loved her brothers, really, but she needed some space. Everything had happened so fast; Ash, Sam, the Deal, the Devil‘s Gate… it was too much for her brain to process. Dean had seven months left, and she and Sam were still trying to find a way to save him. It was like everything caught up with her suddenly and she had to get away before Dean and Sam asked too many questions.

So she went out. Grabbed her phone, cigarettes, and wallet and started walking. The street were still a little unfamiliar, but she used landmarks to find where she was and made mental notes of how to get back home. She wasn‘t looking for anywhere in particular when she found a local bar. Crash. Might as well check it out. She headed inside and sat down at the bar, making a note of all the exits and how she could get out in a hurry if she needed to. It was something John had taught her without really knowing he had done it; make sure all the exits are accessible because you never know what could happen.

Meghan ordered a rum and coke and exhaled more smoke as she looked around. It wasn‘t the usual bar she would be found in but what the hell, everyone had to live a little, right? She took a sip of her drink and sighed as her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She checked it and sighed. Sam was worrying about her. She quickly sent him a message back, saying she was fine and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

Meghan finished her drink, listening to the music that filtered through the speakers, the passing conversations, the click of billiard balls against each other. It was calming, to be in such a chaotic environment. She ordered a beer and lit another cigarette. Since the Roadhouse, she became someone she didn‘t recognize. She smoked too much, drank a little to heavily… The happy-go-lucky nineteen year old who took off with her brothers in 2005 no longer existed. A hardened, dark twenty-two year old had taken her place.

[Logan Cale]

Logan came down the stairs slowly. His usually straight, tall shoulders were slumped, his hands were shoved deep in his pockets. Thicker stubble than usual drifted across his cheeks, and his hair was only haphazardly styled. If he'd have been going anywhere but Crash, he would have probably been in his wheelchair. But the cement stairs were suicide in a wheelchair. So he'd sucked it up and tightened on his brace. Scrubbing it was just the best option to him right now. He felt a little like life was pointless, and if it weren't for Eyes Only, he would have probably sunk into a deep depression. As it were, getting smashed was his current goal.

So his heavy boots scuffed across the dirty, dusty floor, littered with the sticky residue of spilled alcohol, burnt out cigarette butts, napkins and food scraps, shards of broken glasses and plates, and some questionable stains here and there. Not the sanitary place, but it was exciting, usually. He grimaced as beer was sloshed on his shoe, but he ignored it for the most part. That happened a lot here. So it was pretty easy to just brush it off as typical. Usually the assailent was either Sketchy, Normal, Alec, a combination of two of them, or all three of them at once. Better to get spilled/puked/both on by a friend than an enemy.

Logan managed to slide his way to the bar, scored and painted and spilled on by Crash's many elustrious patrons. He clunked himself down on a stool, the braces on his legs clacking against the wood of the bar loudly. He ignored that too. "Scotch, please..." he said quietly, taking out a small notepad and doodling some facts and figures on it. The drink was set in front of him, and he slid the paper away, taking a deep drink of the honey colored liquid. He glanced around. Relatively quiet tonight, if it could be called that. Quiet by Crash's standards, anyways. A young woman was sitting two stools down. She was the sort of dreary, unhappy young woman that made you wonder what sort of things had happened to her that she had become so unfortunate. He often wondered the same thing about himself...

He took another drink, and sighed. He and Max...were done. Finished. There was no more "he and Max." They had finally come to terms, accepting it for what it was. He was more dejected and depressed about it than he'd thought himself capable of. She'd given him a long, hot dosage of emotion that he'd never felt before in his cool, analytical machine of a mind, and in its absence he now only felt an icy hole in the workings. Before he knew it, he'd been sitting there in sullen silence, swinging his legs and clicking them lightly against the stood. His first drink and a half were gone, and the room was getting a little warmer.

[Meghan Winchester]

Meghan sipped her beer and stubbed out last of her cigarette. She knew having a beer and a rum and coke on an empty stomach and ordered a small basket of French fries. Her phone gave off another chime as she received another text message. She pulled it out of her pocket and checked it. “Damnit Sam…” she sighed. She took another sip of beer and called him.

“Sam, seriously, I‘m fine.” A pause, listening. “I‘m at a bar called Crash. And no, I‘m not drinking too much.” Meghan munched on a fry as she listened again. “Sammy, please, stop worrying about me, I‘m gonna be fine, I just need some time to chill… Okay… Yeah… Bye.” She hung up and returned the phone to her pocket. She was tired of Sam worrying about her as much as he did, but she understood why he was so overprotective.

She thought about another cigarette, but decided against it, as it would be the third one she chain smoked. She glanced around, spotting a blonde man in glasses a few barstools away. The man looked almost as sullen as she was sure she looked herself. Meghan looked back at the bar top took another swig of beer.

[Logan Cale]

He listened halfheartedly to the tense conversation beside him. Perhaps a jealous boyfriend or husband? No ring...boyfriend, maybe. But it wasn't his business. He felt like a highschooler who'd just gotten dumped on prom night. But it was deeper, too. He had loved Max with every iota of his soul, and it was over, and it wasn't going to happen again. The virus made that perfectly clear to him. He sighed, ordering a beer. Chasing a scotch with a scotch probably wasn't a good plan. His eyes drifted over to the dark haired girl again. She'd just finished her second cigarette and was obviously debating on a third. She looked around, and their eyes caught for a brief second before she looked away. But it was enough to send the blood pumping in his veins at a hundred miles an hour.

She had Alec's face. Feminized, yes...prettier, even more attractive than the reputed "golden boy". But it was Alec's face. Same set of the eyes, same chin, same high cheekbones. The only real difference was the nose, and that only marginally. It was like seeing a female Alec with a few influences of Max....which, knowing the way Manticore ran its business, was entirely possible. He just had to see her neck...he had to know if there was a barcode. But it would be extremely conspicuous to stand up and crane around trying to see. But the face two seats down was making him edgy.

He decided to take care of things the casual, undercover way. He looked at her, and sent her a small smile. "Boyfriend troubles?" he asked, his white teeth glittering in the dark bar. Maybe a little overly casual, but that usually wasn't a problem in a dive like this. Especially this particular dive. Crash was like an old biker saloon on LSD. Anything was liable to happen here.

[Meghan Winchester]

Meghan rubbed her forehead, a little frustrated with her brother. All she wanted was to go out on her own and not deal with her brothers. They had always been protective of her, but since the Roadhouse fire and the Devil’s Gate, they had become even more protective. Now more than ever she just wanted space, but Dean and Sam seemed unwilling to give it to her.

She looked over as the man spoke. “Me? Oh, no, it was my brother,” she said. “He, um, he worries a lot.” He was nice enough to ask, and she was a little grateful for the company, however brief it may be. She didn‘t talk much nowadays, only to her brothers and Bobby, and the people they talked to to gather further information on a hunt. She used to talk a lot, but now… she was broken.

Ash… she had loved him more than she loved hunting; mullet and all. Every time the had gone to the Roadhouse the two of them would go back into his room with a couple of beers and watch movies, or talk about the hunt, or just make out like couples do. And then the fire… she lost the man she loved in that blaze.

[Logan Cale]

She looked suddenly painfully, heartwrenchingly sad, and Logan slid one seat over. "Well...if I had a sister as pretty as you, I'd be worried about her a lot too. There's a lot of sick people in this world." He took a sip of his drink, and looked at her. Her long, thick, rich black hair was down around her shoulders, covering the back of her neck. Damnit...He swallowed a little and looked at her. She looked like he felt. And that must suck. The Alec thing was just plain freaky, though.

The silence that fell between them was strangely comfortable. The booze was kinda fogging his judgment a little. Well...making him more sociable anyways. He sent her a small smile. "So brother, huh?" His green eyes scanned her face. The music in the small bar made it extremely difficult to hear. He looked around a little. Max, Original Cindy, Alec, and Sketchy were over by the pool tables, as usual. Under normal circumstances, he'd go over there, but it wasn't normal circumstances by any means. He returned his attention to the dark young woman seated beside him.

[Meghan Winchester]

“Thanks…” Meghan felt a blush creep into her face as he commented on her looks. She knew all about the sick people in the world, most of them worse than the demons she and her brothers hunted. The cannibalistic Benders had been the worst be far and a shiver ran down her spine. She took a sip of beer and pulled off her jacket, revealing a dark green thermal shirt with elbow length sleeves. It was a little warm in here from all the people. Or it could just be the alcohol.

She nodded. "Yeah, I have two older brothers. Dean and Sam,” she said, although she realized that this man now knew the names of her brothers but not her name. “I‘m Meghan, by the way.” She offered her hand for a shake. His hand was warm around hers and after a proper shake (firm grip, eye contact) and an introduction from him, she smiled a little. “Well, now I don‘t feel so bad talking to a stranger anymore.”

[Logan Cale]

"Logan. Now I'm not a stranger..." He smiled at her. The green thermal hugged her minor curves flatteringly, and Logan took a drink, looking away. He was suddenly very conscious of his own appearence. While he didn't really look like scruff...Logan never, ever, let himself look like scruff in public...he knew he didn't look his best. He cleared his throat a little, and looked at her. The small blush that rose on her pale neck made him smile a little. This wasn't good. He was flirting. He had to take it easy. He really had to stop, especially considering there was a possibility of her being a transgenic.

Her hand had been callused, and weathered, but gentle at the same time. It was different. The only female he'd touched in a year was Asha, and her hands were scarred and rough, her grip strong and fearless. Meghan's grip had the same sort of fearlessness, but a tenderness as well. He smiled at her.

This was driving him crazy; he had to know if she was Manticore or not. But had had to do it casually. "Hey...um...Might you know someone by the name of Alec?" he asked, very nonchalantly. Logan took a swig of his beer, glancing at her. He hoped he sounded conversationally curious.

[Meghan Winchester]

Meghan smiled a little. “Well, nice to meet you, Logan,” she said. He seemed like a nice guy, although not the normal one night stand she would meet in a bar. Recently, Meghan had become a lot like her oldest brother, going to a bar, meeting a guy and then going back to his place. She was always out before six am, back with her brothers. Meghan was a hollow girl, and she couldn‘t fix herself.

She looked at him. Alec? Alec… nope, she didn‘t know an Alec. “I‘m sorry, I don‘t know anyone named Alec. I know an Alex, but she lives in Indiana.” Why had he asked? Everywhere she went someone asked her if she knew someone else, or she reminded people of someone. Maybe she just had one of those faces…